Down Came the Rain
by Syl
Summary: Nightwing and the Huntress arrive at a new understanding.


Summary: Nightwing and the Huntress arrive at a new understanding.   
  
Author's Note: Takes place during the Bruce Wayne Fugitive story arc.   
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.  
  
Copyright March 2002  
  
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Down Came the Rain  
By Syl Francis  
  
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The dark figure stood easily balanced on the head of a gargoyle hanging off Gotham Cathedral. He stared unseeing at the lights below, unmindful of the dizzying heights or the cold, uncaring breeze.  
  
It's over...!  
  
Batman's words rang in his ears. They hadn't lost any of their sting. Nightwing crouched low, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled before him. Soon after Batman left the cave for parts unknown, a fugitive from the law, Nightwing had stormed out in his heels.  
  
How could Bruce just throw it all away, he'd fumed? After everything they'd been through? Everything they'd meant to each other?  
  
Or at least everything Dick *thought* they had meant to each other.   
  
Nightwing went over the evidence that had piled up against Bruce. He had to admit that it looked bad. That whoever had framed his adoptive father had done an ironclad job of it. Nightwing couldn't find a crack in it.  
  
Yet!   
  
Nightwing stood, raising a defiant fist at the dark city below. Maybe Batman had given up on Bruce Wayne, but Nightwing hadn't! Batman might say that Bruce Wayne was an inconsequential mask that only interfered in his mission, but Nightwing saw it differently. Bruce Wayne was the man who'd raised him, trained him, been there for him.   
  
He was the man Dick Grayson loved as a father, and Nightwing would be damned if Batman was going to dismiss him as irrelevant.  
  
"I'll find a way to clear your name, Bruce. Whatever happens, I won't give up on you."  
  
"Nightwing, come in." Oracle suddenly came online.  
  
"Here." Nightwing sounded brusque even to his own ears.  
  
"Dick, I'm glad I found you. I was worried after what happened."  
  
"I'm fine, Babs," Nightwing reassured her. "I just don't see how we're gonna clear his name now, since everyone thinks he's skipped the country 'cause he's guilty."  
  
"Dick, that's why I'm calling. I've been going over the evidence. There's just nothing here that clears him. And everything that points towards his guilt."  
  
"I know that, Babs. But we can't give up. Have you run additional searches on his rogues gallery?"  
  
"Dick, what I'm trying to say is that perhaps...just perhaps, we need to start looking at this from a totally objective point of view. We need to start considering that maybe this isn't a frame. That he really did--"  
  
"Babs! I don't believe I heard you right! You know he's not guilty! Bruce would *never*--"  
  
"Maybe not Bruce...but Batman--?"  
  
"What are you saying?" Nightwing demanded. "You talk as if they're two different men! Babs, you're talking about the same guy--*Bruce*!"  
  
"Dick, don't you see?" Barbara replied. "Bruce and Batman are two different men! Two separate entities in one body--like Harvey Dent. And as erratic as the two personalities been behaving this past year--! Well...it's just a possibility that we need to--"  
  
"*No*!" Nightwing said sharply. "I *won't* consider that. Not now! Not ever!"   
  
"Dick--!"  
  
"No, you listen to me, Babs! That man raised me. He trained me. I *know* him! I know what he's capable of doing, and what he's not. I know that he would *never*--!"  
  
"Dick, you're a detective!" Barbara cut in. "You know there's no 'never' in murder. Everybody's capable of committing what we might otherwise consider out-of-character behavior given the correct set of circumstances--"  
  
"Babs, I'm not listening to this." Nightwing's voice went dangerously quiet. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."  
  
"Dick, please!" Barbara said with exasperation. "Do you think for one minute that I like what I'm saying? Do you think I like having to consider the possibility--remote as it is--that Batman might have committed murder?"  
  
"Babs--!"  
  
"No! Let me finish!" Babs insisted. "Dick, you have to think about this. If this were anyone else, both you and Batman would *expect* us to investigate. To cover all the bases--coldly and dispassionately. In fact, the Batman we know would've offered to help. Not torpedo our efforts by escaping."  
  
Nightwing closed his eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of grief, exhaustion, and rage mixing in.  
  
"Babs, please...stop this. Please, don't force me to choose between the two of you--"  
  
"And the *fight*! How could he *hit* you like that?"  
  
"I hit him first, remember?" Nightwing reminded her. "Besides, he held back his punches."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He held back," Nightwing repeated. "You don't think I'd still be standing if he'd really wanted to hurt me, do you?"  
  
"I don't understand?"  
  
"Never mind, Babs," Nightwing said. "The only thing that matters is that *I* understand."   
  
Because I held back, too, he added silently. Dick admitted that he was simply incapable of hurting Bruce Wayne, even for his own good. And no matter how often Batman said that there was no Bruce Wayne, Nightwing would never believe the words.   
  
Dick's loyalty was for the man and not the mask. So, in the end, he'd held back his own punches--as had Batman.  
  
But if there were no Bruce Wayne, then why hadn't Batman just decked him and left it at that? Could it have been for the same reason that he himself couldn't ever really hurt Batman? Not just out of loyalty, but out of love? Which is why, Dick would never believe that Bruce could be guilty of murder.  
  
"Dick, listen to me," Barbara was saying. "I know how you must feel, but it doesn't alter the fact that Bruce had opportunity, a possible motive, and his fingerprints were found on the murder weapon--a gun that he had purchased only recently!"  
  
"Babs--!" Dick began.  
  
"Vesper was getting ready to go public with her knowledge of Batman's secret identity. Add to this Bruce's behavior--!"  
  
"*No*!" Dick shouted. "I've already told you! I won't listen to any talk like that! Bruce is not guilty! I don't care what kind of evidence there is to prove that he is! I don't care if I myself were the one who uncovered the evidence! I'll never believe that--"  
  
"Dick! You've got to stop this! You have to at least consider the possibility that--!"  
  
"That's it, Babs!" Dick shouted, cutting her off. "First Robin, then Batgirl, now you! You're supposed to be his friends, but now--? You're all turning against him. And now you're expecting me to do the same thing! To be a traitor!"  
  
"Dick! You're being childish!" Barbara said in exasperation.   
  
"I'm not being childish!"  
  
"Well, we're not being traitors. We're worried and all we want is to arrive at the truth."  
  
"It's not the truth you want, Babs. You can't find the truth, if you've already made up your mind."  
  
"Dick, I have not made up my mind!"  
  
"Yes, you have, Babs. You've given up on him."  
  
"Dick, that's just not true," she denied. "I'm trying to conduct a murder investigation here. And in order to do that I have to keep an open mind--*he* taught us that!  
  
"Fine! *You* keep an open mind! Me--I'll stick to my childish ideas of loyalty, friendship...and love! Nightwing out!"  
  
Shutting off the transmission at his end, Nightwing dove off Gotham Cathedral, feeling the rush of the icy wind as it whipped through his hair, attempting to clear his mind. Reveling in the ecstasy of freefall, he somersaulted several times just for the fun of it.  
  
Almost reluctantly, he fired a jump line at the last possible instant and expertly allowed his momentum to carry to the next rooftop. As he did so, he remembered the happy times, his early days as Robin when the Gotham City skyline was his personal playground--a giant sandbox in which he'd been allowed to play the ultimate game of cops and robbers.  
  
And next to him, never more than a Batarang's throw away, was the dark and steadying presence of Batman. His mentor, and yes, his hero. And then, after a long night's work, Batman and Robin would return home. Often times, the nine-year-old Dick would fall asleep on the long drive back, and Bruce would put him to bed, safely tucking him in.  
  
"Just like Dad used to," Nightwing murmured. He thought of Babs' words and tried to consider them. What if--? And just instantly discarded them. "No...never...!" Nightwing spoke fiercely. "Let everyone else turn his back. I'll prove your innocence, Bruce, I'll--"  
  
"How can you be so certain?"  
  
Dick whipped around at the unexpected voice, automatically assuming a defensive crouch.  
  
"Who--?" he began, and stopped. A shadowed, lithe figure stood in the dim starlight. "What do you want, Huntress?"   
  
She laughed lightly. "Such warmth, such compassion." Huntress grinned ruefully. "Like father, like son." She walked up to him, her movements smooth and graceful. "I want to help." As she spoke, the Huntress reached out her gloved fingers lightly touching his arm. Nightwing flinched, reacting as if her hand were a hot poker.  
  
"Help?" he growled. "Help with what?" He turned away, placing as much distance as he could between them. The Huntress sighed. She didn't follow him, instead leaning against the raised ledge that ran along the roof's edge.   
  
Crossing her arms, she studied the enigmatic young man whom she'd tried to befriend so long ago. At first, he'd been a means to an end--a way to get on the inside with Batman. But then, her scheme had backfired on her. She'd found herself attracted to Nightwing--even falling in love--only to be rejected in favor of another.  
  
And she was still on the outs with Batman.  
  
But Batman had helped her when she'd needed it the most. He'd allowed her to clear her name--even after she'd accidentally shot him with her crossbow. For trusting her enough to do things her own way, she'd always be grateful. Maybe she'd never mean to Batman what Nightwing so obviously did, but she owed him. And the Huntress always paid her debts.  
  
"I know who he is."  
  
Nightwing stiffened at her words.  
  
"Batman, I mean. I know he's Bruce Wayne."  
  
Nightwing whirled around and faced her. His anger, which he'd earlier directed at Barbara, was now focused on the beautiful, but dangerous young woman standing before him.  
  
"What are you talking about, Helena?" He spoke softly, but with a menacing undertone. His entire stance reflected the pent up danger that lay just underneath his usually open and friendly demeanor.   
  
"Oh, please, Nightwing," the Huntress began. "I know Batman is Bruce Wayne. I mean, well...I don't know it. At least I'm not 100 percent sure, but--" She stopped. "Look...I know what *you* look like." Smirking, she raked him with an appreciative once-over. "All of you, in fact." His look of cold contempt wiped off her smirk. "Okay, bad joke," she apologized. "I know that night was a mistake, but we were both lonely, and we needed someone to hold. I'm not ashamed of it."   
  
Unable to bear his unyielding expression, she turned away and looked out upon the city that they both knew belonged to another. After a long while, she spoke again, so softly Nightwing had to take a step closer in order to hear her.  
  
"I only wish you weren't...ashamed of it, I mean. Or that you didn't hate me..." There was a slight catch in her voice. Immediately Nightwing experienced a slight twinge of guilt.  
  
"I don't hate you, Helena," he said. "And I'm not ashamed of what we did. But it was wrong. I'd just like to put it behind me...behind us."  
  
The Huntress nodded wordlessly. Finally, she looked up him, her dark, violet eyes reflecting the hurt she still felt.  
  
"I know. And I respect that," she said softly. "That's why I want to help--"  
  
"Help how? Help with what?" Nightwing interrupted sharply. "You're not making a lot of sense!" She held up her hand for quiet.  
  
"I don't have to be Batman to add two and two. Like I said...I know what you look like under the mask. But until just a few weeks ago, I didn't have a name to go with the face. So imagine my surprise when I caught a glimpse of you on the evening news, standing next to Bruce Wayne. And imagine my greater surprise when Summer Gleason announced that you were Richard Grayson, the adopted son of Bruce Wayne who was accused of murder."  
  
Nightwing was about to protest, but she held up her hand again to forestall any interruptions.  
  
"I know that that doesn't mean that your adoptive father is necessarily Batman, but look at it from my point of view. All the pieces suddenly added up--you were the first Robin, and when you grew up, you became Nightwing. Batman treats you differently from all his other partners--why? I've often asked myself that question...why are you so special to him? You don't even operate out of Gotham City! And yet, whenever there's a major crisis--you're always there. By his side, as if you've always belonged there and always will."  
  
She paused momentarily, gauging the effect of her words on him. She took a step towards him and tentatively reached out her hand. When he didn't slap it away, she placed it gently on his cheek. Her touch, which only a few minutes ago felt like a white-hot poker, now felt feather soft.  
  
"So, I finally came to the conclusion that you were his son. It was the only explanation that made sense. Two men who were always at loggerheads they way you two seemed to be...Batman always giving orders, you always arguing...Batman always demanding, you always obeying--even when you resented it. That kind of loyalty is almost impossible to instill on just a friend and colleague."  
  
At her words, Nightwing took her hand in his and held her eyes steadily.  
  
"How am I doing so far?" she asked. Flashing a familiar half-smile, he gave her hand a brief squeeze and then released it. Almost reluctantly, she dropped her arm down to her side.  
  
Not answering her question directly, Nightwing walked over to the high ledge and climbed up on top of it. He let the cold Gotham night shroud him in its icy blackness. "He didn't do it."  
  
"I know."  
  
At her words, he turned and studied her, searching for any signs of dissemblance. She openly held his gaze, welcoming the chance to prove her loyalty once and for all. Satisfied with what he saw, Nightwing held his hand out to her. Moments later she stood on the ledge next to him, their bodies so close as to be almost touching.   
  
They stood that way for a long time, staring out upon the city spires, marveling at its compelling beauty, drawn to it as moths are to a flame. As the wind picked up, her cape billowed suddenly, whipping around her, enveloping them both within its protective confines. She faced him then, less than a heartbeat separating them.  
  
"I want to help."  
  
Barbara's hurtful words still echoed in his mind. He forced himself to block them out, refusing to listen to their basic reasoning. Instead, Nightwing listened to Huntress' words, finally hearing the underlying meaning behind them. And understood.   
  
While Barbara's words were tarnished with an inherent shadow of doubt, the Huntress' offer rang with an unquestioning loyalty.   
  
Nodding slightly, Nightwing again took her hand in his. Bringing it up to his lips, he gallantly kissed it. Gently cupping her chin, he again gave her his fleeting half-smile. Mirroring her earlier reluctance, he slowly dropped his hand down to his side.  
  
"Thank you," he said simply. And then, without another word Nightwing dove off the ledge and into the night. Smiling in the dark, she stood on the ledge long after he'd gone.   
  
"You're welcome." For the moment, she belonged.  
  
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The End  
  
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